


Invasion of Love

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: John "Three Continents" Watson, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, Multi, Pick your innocence over my writing Rachael, Pre-Relationship, Sherlock AU, Sort of doesn't, The canon sort of exists, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-17 12:48:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5870254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the spirit of February, Cupid's month, I figured I should do a Johnlock fanfiction. I'm thinking of doing a chapter a day thing until February 14th so if you think I should will you leave a comment??? Pleeassse?? Or I can leave this here and let your wonderful bright minds wonder...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John stared at his newborn, currently sleeping in his arms. It had been a long several hours of screaming, but he was rewarded greatly with a baby girl. She was wrapped in a deep purple blanket. Normally baby girls would be swaddled in purple but Sherlock had thrown a hissy fit and had them swaddle her in a purple blanket he bought.

 _Conforming to gender expectations._ That had been the reason Sherlock used. He also hadn't let John buy anything pink for her to wear or use, _anything._

John didn't know why, but he felt something wrong. He had waited for this night for months, yet something wasn't right. Like he hadn't spent with the right person. Of course he knew what he was feeling. He knew who he was feeling for. And it definitely wasn't Mary. He looked at his sleeping wife, being so carefully monitored by the nurses, and in that moment John realized something, he didn't care if his wife lived or died. 

John shook the thoughts from his head, guilt taking over from thinking about his wife dying while he held his beautiful baby girl, who was now stirring and waking up. He handed he r to the nurse so she could take her back for testing and monitor her. He kissed Mary's forehead and walked out to the waiting room where Sherlock, Mycroft, Greg, and the Holmes parents were currently sitting. It looked like a family meeting and John knew how hard it was for them to sit in the same room without fighting. Mycroft and Greg were holding hands, their new-found relationship obviously had just been spilled to the rest of the family because they were all sitting there in uncomfortable silence. John could practically see the new names for his brother running across his room as he stored them away, not willing to fight with Mycroft in front of his family, and even less willing to fight with Mycroft in the waiting room while he was waiting for the news. 

Sherlock was sitting on the edge of the cult, feet in the chair and elbows resting on his knees. John smiled to himself. Sherlock's odd quirks and positions always made him smile. It was utterly ridiculous and amusing. 

John walked into the waiting room. He was wearing a green nurse's outfit over his clothes and long rubber gloves. They all looked up at him, clearly relieved for the distraction. All except Mycroft and Sherlock. Mycroft's face was a mixture of amusement and smugness, no doubt he was proud of himself. Sherlock, unlike his brother, was not so sure. His face twisted up in an expression John would later come to describe as his "emotions are getting to me" face.

"Where's Mary? Is she okay? How's the baby?" Sherlock stood, walking over to John as if he were going to fight him.

"Mary's fine, she's just sleeping. It was a girl and she's in perfect condition, as far as I know."

John watched as the whole family tuned into what he was saying, every face flooding with relieve and amazement. An expression John came to know as the wonder-lust face. It was on every patient's family he worked with after a baby was born. John actually wasn't sure why the whole family came, but they did. And it somehow made him feel more comfortable. 

"May I see her?"

Sherlock's voice was low, right in his ear. He was whispering. Of course he was whispering. If he had said it louder everybody would have insisted they come along. And a room full of crying babies, intimidated by the Holmes family was not what John needed. 

John nodded and led Sherlock back to the viewing room. His baby wasn't hard to pick out. Not with her being the only with purple. She already had tiny golden curls sprouting out of her head. They couldn't quite curl yet, but John knew they would. She would look just like an angel and it made John smile. How had he gotten an angel baby from the queen of hell? He didn't know, but he didn't care. 

"What's her name?"

John looked up at the taller man and smiled. 

"Sherlock's a girl's name."


	2. The Mary Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a short one. I just got back from the Doctor's and am a bit excited over the news. I promise you good things are coming. But not without issues.

John picked his daughter ou of her crib. She was sleeping soundly and only made a whining noise when he picked her up. His daughter. John loved the sound of it. It was the only light in his day so far. They'd gotten home last night and she'd cried most he time, except for when John held her. 

Mary hadn't been bothered to hold her since she'd had her. Postpartum depression, the doctors said she might fall victim to it. But John knew. Mary wasn't depressed. She was planning. And John hated it.

He took a warm baby bottle out of the microwave and checked the temperature before waking up his tiny angel. 

"Come on, Willa. Time to eat."

His daughter let out a high pitched whine, but gave in to the chains of sleep releasing her. She opened her wide blue eyes, and gurgled up at John. The blonde tufts of hair wild from sleep. Joh smiled and offered her the bottle's teat. 

\---

Sherlock paced the flat, harpoon in hand and John's chair moved to the kitchen. He'd had no word of the baby and was ready to storm over there and rescue her. Her being the baby. Rescue her from her own mother.

_"Mother."_

How unworthy she was of that title. It made Sherlock want to vomit. She was no more fit to be a mother than Sherlock a pediatrician. Sure, he had some basic knowledge, but he would fail at the job. And so would she. Sherlock knew she would. And when she did, John would come back to Sherlock for shelter. 

Unless he didn't.

He hadn't run to Sherlock for Shelter since Bart's, since Moriarty. Sherlock knew he had messed up. He just hadn't realized how much. Of course Sherlock was overestimating his influence over John. John would be more likely to go to Harry's before he came back to Sherlock. 

_"Oh, hell!"_

Sherlock slammed he harpoon down and pulled the coat off the back of the door. Stopping only after he'd pulled on the coat. He couldn't go to John's flat. Not with Mary there. She was already upset enough that John named their daughter after Sherlock.

Sherlock replaced the coat, tossing the harpoon into the couch with his free hand. This was going to be the hardest night of his life. He walked over to his chair and sat down heavily. Staring at the empty chair across from him. He'd never admit it, but he missed the person in it more than he did while he was in Serbia. 

Maybe it was the fact that he moved on. Maybe because of who he moved on eith. Sherlock didn't know why, but during his time defeating Moriarty's network, he'd never thought John would move on. Or leave Baker Street. 

But he had. And now Sherlock was left with an empty room, empty kitchen , empty chair. Everything was so fucking empty without him. Sherlock had never realized how homey John could make one room feel just with his presence. And it pissed him off.


	3. Plan A

Today was better, better for John at least. And that was all Sherlock cared about. At least that's what Sherlock wanted John to think. John had been over earlier with Willa Sherlock earlier. Stopping by for breakfast before the long trek. John was taking Willa Any to see her aunt and her newest girlfriend since Harry couldn't make it to him. Although he was the one with the baby.

Not that Sherlock was complaining. He'd been waiting for news for what felt like ever before they came over. Thought the timing had been a bit bad. Sherlock had been up in John's old room. Not doing anything, just sitting. He had been trying to picture John and he imagined he could do better if he were surrounded by his scent.

John hadn't bothered knocking and just climbed up the stairs, calling Sherlock from the living room, since he assumed Sherlock was in how own bedroom. Sherlock had almost died laughing at the fave John made when Sherlock flew down the stairs and into the living room, gently stealing the baby from John.

_"Hello, Little Sherlock.."_

_"What were you doing in my room?"_

_"Hold on, Little Sherlock, John's being an idiot. Yes?"_

_"Why were you in my room?"_

_"I was feeling the air so I could figure out what I I could do with the room."_

_"You're going to change my room?_

_"It's not your room anymore, is it?"_

John had agreed with him on that and left the topic alone. Sherlock didn't know why he snapped at John, but he'd gotten the point across. Of course, not without his deep baritone voice shaking the baby too much and causing her to cry.

As John had gotten her to calm down, he told Sherlock about Maryand how she was acting. Which Sherlock pretended to be surprised by this action, like he hadn't predicted this would happen 5 months earlier.

Sherlock knew what was happening. Mary was planning. And it bugged Sherlock. What lengths would she go to to make John love her. John nor the baby were safe, but how could Sherlock say that without hurting John? He couldn't. And so he just had to make sure that he kept John near him. Away from her.

\---

Sherlock was sitting silently in his chair when Mycroft walked in. John had left several hours ago and Sherlock had juts decides what he would have to do to keep John safe. Mycroft cleared his throat and watched his little brother.

Mycroft had his arm out and it was linked with Greg's. They were obviously going to the park or something domestic like that, until Sherlock had called.

Sherlock looked up from the floor at the couple and made a face, but didn't let it distract him from his job to keep John safe from Mary.

"I need cameras in John's flat.


	4. Mary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, I know there are some Mary haters to there. *cough* Rachael *cough*. But I feel that she is an amazing strong female lead. I just don't like what she did. Or that she gets in the way of Johnlock. Anyways, you can skip his chapter if you can't stand her.

Mary laid in bed, the baby's crying reaching her ears and never sinking in. John's words as he paced the room and shouted abuse. All she could hear was the sound of her own heart and even that was weak. She could feel, hear her heart turning to ice every second she lived longer. I'd she moved, it would break, and send icicle shards through her body. 

Breathe in, breathe out. That was a constant. The low hum of her breath filling and leaving her lungs. A reminder that she's still alive. Much against her will. 

She'd loved John Watson, she could have sworn on it, and yet, here she is. Moriarty had told her once, just once, not even really told her. She overheard.

_" I've been described as a spider, in a Web of crimes. I can't say that's wrong, but Sebby, Mary is the Queen spider, and she's caught John Watson in her web."_

Mary had thought of it as a compliment at the time, but now she was finally seeing the truth to his words. 

_" And when she gets him, she will use him. They will mate and you know what she'll do with him after that?"_

_"What, boss?"_

_"She'll kill him. And if she has a child. She'll kill it, too."_

Oh, how true his words were. She had scoffed at the idea when she'd first heard it. She loved John and she'd love the baby that he would give her. She would have a second chance with John. She'd be happy. Maybe she could finally leave this business. 

They'd been planning for yesrs. Once Sherlock was down, Mary was to swoop in and make John love her. She'd been scared at first, but making him love had been easy. The hard part was destroying everything he thought of Sherlock. Making John believe that Sherlock was the worSt thing g that had happened to him. 

But even that hadn't taken too long. 

John had given up hope quicker than Mary thought was possible for a loyal man like John. And she was right. He hadn't given up hope. He hsd hidden it. Stored it away. And so here she is. Used and forgotten as a lover. As his wife. He'd done so much as to take their newborn baby to his alcoholic sister's house. 

It gave Mary time. Lots of time. Too much time. And she knew exactly what to do. 

\---

Sherlock planned where the cameras would be placed and when they could put them in before sending his brother and Greg off to do whatever John used to do with Mary. He just needed Mycroft and Greg out of the house before she came over. 

He cleaned the flat and started tea, setting it out for when she came. And he picked up his violin and began playing.

_"You don't tell John."_


	5. Confrontation

_You don't tell John._

Mary walked into the sitting room, inching the door open slowly. Only to find that she wasn't the only one prepared for war. A British army browning L9-A1 aimed at her head. Mary smirked, running her eyes along the long pale arm to the owner, Sherlock Holmes. 

"Killing me here, in my own flat, with that same gun? Bad idea. John would know who'd done it immediately."

"Of course not, Sir. Just making sure you keep yourself under control. Have you been playing?"

Mary motioned to the abandoned violin on the floor, bow on the table. SherlocK slipped his gun into his pocket and nodded. He motioned to John's chair to sit. Though he knew she would take his. She couldn't stand to be surrounded by John's scent. It would remind her that she's betraying him.

"Of course. As we both know, there's nothing better for me to do if John's not here. No one for me to show off with. No one to bicker with. No one to have to worry about."

"You talk as if he died. He's not dead, yet."

"But we also both know he is, isn't he? I mean, he married you." Sherlock's lips turned up in a slight smirk at he corners of his mouth. "If he's not dead, then you're certainly are killing him."

"But he still lives with you in that ridiculous head, doesn't he? He still fusses about the milk?"

"Of course he's still in my mind palace."

"You know he's never coming back to you?"

"Because you're in my-"

"Stop it, Sherlock. Just stop it! You know why he married me! You know why he won't ever come back to you!"

"N-No-"

"Because you always feel it, Sherlock."

_You always feel it, Sherlock._

"But you don't have to fear it."

_But you don't have to feel it._

She stared directly at him. 

"He cried, Sherlock. John Watson cried buckets and buckets."

_John Watson will cry buckets and buckets._

"He saw you jump. He saw the person he loved kill himself. I did, too." It was her turn for her mouth to curl up into a smirk. "He can't trust you. He can't love you. Not anymore. Not after that. What if you decide that you have to leave again? John Watson would kill himself."

Sherlock stared at the sitting figure. His eyes were wide and his breathing quick. This hadn't been what he expected would happen. How did she know? How had she hit every single one of Sherlock's fears. 

Mary stood and smiled at Sherlock, before turning and walking out. 

_John Watson is definitely in danger._


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock stared at the now empty chair, shocks going through him like tidal waves. He could hear John's cries, he could hear Molly's scream. But no bullets. No guns. Not on them, at least. Sherlock could feel the bullet ripping through his body. Blowing down everything in its path. 

_The east wind is comjng, Sherlock. It's coming to get you._

_Two boys played in big yard. The bigger one stood on solid green grass, and the other one stood on decaying grass. Every step the younger made towards the older he sank deeper into the grass._

_The east wind is coming, Sherlock. It's coming to get you._

_Sherlock sat at a royal table in the dining hall, his face stared directly at his empty plate. A young man walked into the room and held a bag of white powder up in front of the teenager's face. He laughed at the teenager and walked off with the bag._

_The east wind is coming, Sherlock. It's coming to get you._

_Sherlock was curled up on a cot, as a younger man whispered in his ear, trying to keep him breathing as the paramedics carried him away._

"Sherlock?!"

Sherlock opened his eyes to find that he had fallen to the floor during his daydream. John put down the baby in the carrier by the couch and knelt beside Sherlock. 

"What's wrong? What's hurt, Sherlock?"

Sherlock removed a hand from his abdomen to find it covered with a red sticky substance. Sherlock looked at John just to find that he, too, was covered in blood. 

Who's blood? 

Sherlock looked around and put a hand up to cover his eyes, as the walls started dripping blood. His blood. They were all draining him, and they didn't realize. Sherlock open his eyes to find comfort in John, just as John burst like a giant blood blister and the sticky warmth covered Sherlock completely.

He could hear John's cries against his skin. The blood mixing with salt water, Sherlock drowning in the confusion.

"Sherlock, wake up. It's time to wake up."

Sherlock opened his eyes, preparing for his next nightmare. He sat strict up off the floor and started to tell John to sod off, but was quickly cut off by the force of John's lips on his own.


	7. Chapter 7

A kiss. That's what this is. Sherlock's mind was having trouble processing the emotions running through his body as John's rough lips kissed his own. At least there wasn't a moustache.

Mary. 

Sherlock pulled away from John, blinking several times before he tried to speak. 

"If you're trying to bring me back using mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, then, great job. The words slid easily off his tongue as he searched the entire room for a camera, for a microphone. Sherlock paused and added, "Vatican Cameos" under his breath, hoping if there was a microphone, his voice would go too low to be caught.

John quickly caught on and stood, picking up Willa's little carriage as he stood. He looked at Sherlock and spotted it. The drug. He hadn't drugged himself, he'd been drugged. John marched over and pulled the needle out of Sherlock's side, checking to see where it was from. 

"Sherlock.."

John's hand froze as he read the label for his own surgery on the shaft of the needle. Sherlock was climbing over their chairs, searching the shelves. He barely looked at John until John became silent. 

"John? What is it? Was I drugged? That's normal."

Sherlock kept his voice low, the rumbling in his chest wanting to make him laugh but he knew that would sound off. He was truly surprised at John's reaction to him being drugged. 

"No. Sherlock, this says it's from my surgery. Only one of my nurses could have gotten their hands on these. You know who drugged you, don't you?"

Sherlock realized he couldn't lie about this. Not anymore. If Mary was willing to drug Sherlock, knowing John would find out, then she's not worried about John's safety or Willa's. Sherlock's head dipped as he nodded. He held out he camera he ripped off the shelf towards John. 

"Sherlock, who did this?"

"If I tell you the answer, you won't believe me."

"Who says I won't?"

"Mary."

John's face was silent as he understood what happened. "Who did this?"

"You can't go home, John. It's not safe."


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock walked to the desk and opened his laptop, quickly pulling up the live feed he had of John's flat. John was up in his old bedroom, making it more baby friendly. John had the baby holder, but Willa had been in Sherlock's arms the whole time. She enjoyed being on his chest and feeling the rumbling of his voice. 

Sherlock quickly typed in the code, only to find what he didn't want to. All 10 cameras they'd placed in her flat had been found and theor screens were frozen. But that wasn't the worst of it. Mary wasn't in any of the cameras, but she had left a pretty clear signal on the wall. 

'GET SHERLOCK' was written in red paint on the living room wall. Of course that. Of course the phrase that made him famous aming criminals feeding off Moriarty's network. Sherlock shut the laptop and pulled on his coat, not going to risk taking John, but forgetting Willa was on his chest. He silently ran out of the flat, and hailed a cab. 

A high whining sound surprised him, as he got into the car. It couldn't have been him. He doesn't sound like that. 

 

Willa. He was still wearing her. Willa stared up at him and let out the same sound, obviously in distress. 

"What? What is it?"

Of course she couldn't answer, instead she let out another whine, and then a shorter one, and the she let out the waterworks. 

Sherlock looked around where he was and saw it. A dull purple owl, that had been worn out. Obviously her favourite. He quickly picked it up and handed it to her, before closing the door to the cab. Shooting a glance to the cabby, he told him where to go. 

"Single dad?"

Sherlock had been in his mind palace most the ride, until he heard that. Was that in his mind palace? Who was that?

"Sir?"

The cabby. They actually talked? How many times had Sherlock ignored them. He gave up on even trying to figure it out. 

"What? Hm, no. Just saving her from a psychotic mother, who's willing to kill her own daughter in order to make John not love me. Which he won't do. He's far too loyal for his own good."

The cabby glanced at Sherlock though the rear view mirror. His eyes were doubtful and he looked as if he was about to call the police. 

"Do you need me to call the police?"

"No. And if you do, and they come after me, they'll find confidential government secrets on your laptop and you'll immediately be persecuted for tea son to your country. Good day."

Sherlock quickly got out of the cab and ran into the flat.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long..

Mary walked into the metal room, the walls immediately radiating the cold that bounced off her. She could feel her feet freezing into blocks of ice, becoming harder and harder to move, but at the same time, her insides were melting as she came closer and closer to his room.

_John's room._

Sherlock hadn't been clever. She'd expected that. When it came to John Watson Sherlock Holmes was an idiot. He'd ran off to kill her, when she'd ran off to get John. He'd been staying here for two days now and it was wonderful. He finally loved her again. Now that he knew having Sherlock was no longer an option. 

The tray of dinner foods she carried trembled as she walked. She used one hand to unlock and open the door to John's room-

_Their room_

Yes, their room. He'd told her that. He loved her. He had to. 

She carried the tray over to their bed, placing it on the bed beside the sleeping form. She ran her fingertips along his arm over to his chest. She touched the wounds forming on his chest. The riding crop. She'd been so clever to use that. The sounds that escaped from his lips were delicious and she needed more. 

"Johhhhn. Johhhnnn, it's time to wake up."

His eyebrows bunched together and then pulled apart as he opened his eyes, as he always did when he was waking up. He pale blues eyes stared up at her for a moment before they darkened and filled with comprehending. 

"Don't look at me like that. Eat your dinner, love."

John started to sit up, but was quickly stopped by the searing pain shooting through his chest and back. 

"Ah-ah-ah..."

Mary gently pushed John back into the bed.

"Don't move, love. Your still adjusting to the love marks."

"Love marks? That's what you call them? They're more like possession marks."

"What's the difference?"

Mary's eyes were dark as she hovered over John's bed and cut up his food. The knife halted as she spoke and then went back to cutting a bit more forcefully. 

John swallowed quickly and shrugged.

"Nothing. I love you."

Mary's smile widened as John said it, not noticing the disgust that filled his eyes. 

"Good boy."


	10. Chapter 10

~3 days ago~

Sherlock's heart pounded as he searched Mary's flat, finding nothing. Her clothes were gone. John's clothes, too. She'd planned on leaving. She could be anywhere. Sherlock calmed the crying baby on his chest and hailed a cab back to his flat. Maybe John could manage to take care if her. She just would not stop crying and stank. Sherlock couldn't imagine why John had ever wanted one of these. 

Sherlock climbed out of the cab and ran up the stairs into his flat to find it empty. Not only empty, ransacked, dishevelled. She'd been here. If she'd been here then-

"JOHN!!"

Sherlock ran up the stairs to John's room to find it empty. No note. No angry phone call about how Sherlock had run off with his child. Nothing. John Watson was missing. 

~Today~

Sherlock watched the morning light drift into the empty flat, lighting up John's empty place and the blood on the floor. Blood. Sherlock knew it wasn't real, that he was having hallucinations from the lack of sleep and his ptsd, but it was hard to ignore them. It kept getting harder and harder to pretend they weren't there. 

Mary. She was the worst of them. She would walk into the flat andopen her mouth to say somehing, but it wasn't her voice. It was John's. 

_You're not a puzzle solver. You never have been. You're a drama-queen._   
_I love you, Mary. I never loved him. He's just a violent sociopath. How could he ever feel?_

Those were okay. Those he could deal with. It was when Mary scream in John's voice, when he could hear John-s cries for him, and he could do nothing. Those were the worst.

Sherlock closed his eyes and before he even tried to, he was in John's room. Not John's upstairs room. The room in his head. The room that had warm blankets, and jumpers in the closet, kittens in the corner, and the fridge was always packed with milk and jam. Elton John was softly playing over the radio that John was always tuned to. 

Everything was there and in place. Everything except John. John had been there. He'd slept in that bed, he'd listened to that music, but he wasn't now. Not since the fall. Sherlock had gone to check o him and John's had been gone. 

Sherlock had panicked at first, checked every room in his palace. But John wasn't there anymore. It wasn't until Sherlock came back and found Mary that he understood. John wasn't his anymore. Mary stole John from his rightful spot. And Sherlock could do nothing.

He knew if he told John, John would just laugh. Laugh at him for being so silly. For thinking John could love him. _I'm not gay!_

Sherlock took a long drink of scotch, before sinking deeper into his chair. Mrs. Hudson had come up when she heard Sherlock screaming and taken Willa downstairs to her own flat. Leaving Sherlock completely alone. She still checked on him, but she had more important things to take care of. 

"Tea?"

Sherlock started to yell about her not knocking, when he realized the voice wasn't right. It wasn't Mrs. Hudson. 

"What do you want?!"

Sherlock stood and swung around to face Mary. He couldn't tell if she was real or not,but she was wearing Mrs. Hudson's clothes. Willa. Mrs. Hudson. 

"Don't worry about them, Sherlock. The landlady threatened to scream so I had her taken care of and Willa, my daughter, was so delighted to see me, she almost didn't notice the milk tasted funny." Her smile widened. "Now they're both dead. No more problems for me and John, well, there won't be after you. Please. Take the tea. I made it with my special ingredient."

Sherlock felt his world shaking, the whole perfect universe he convinced himself he could make was collapsing. John, Mrs. Hudson, Willa. She was going to take them all down, one by one. Mycroft had warned him. _The east wind is coming to get you._

Mary set the tea down and melted into ice. The only constant in his mind palace. The only thing that stayed the same. Everyone else would burst into blood, but she would melt. She would melt from the inside out. 

Sherlock stood out of his chair and ran downstairs. Seeing that Mrs. Hudson and Willa were alright he ran out of the flat. Thats what he needed. However much he hated it, she had just given him what he needed to solve the case. 

She just didn't realize it.


	11. Chapter 11

The tray. The tray she'd carried the tea on. Shiny silver. At first it seemed like an ordinary tray that Mrs. Hudson would carry, but it wasn't. Sherlock had looked at the tray in order to avoid Mary's eyes and he'd seen it. 

_John._

John had been reflected back. He was sitting on the floor in a metal room. The bed looked like a cart with white sheets thrown onto it. His body was scraped and scarred and his face was red from crying. 

A hospital, an institution, an office building with with interrogation rooms. A surgery. John's surgery. Sherlock quickly hailed a cab and told them where to go. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and automatically knew who it was. 

{ I don't have time for this, Mycroft.}

{Don't go in there alone, Sherlock. She is a psychopath and she will not hesitate to take John down to get you to go away. Just like you, she can survive in her head with John. She can love with him, without him being there. I'll be there just don't go in alone.}

Sherlock hated how much more his brother knew about Mary but had never told him. He hated that Mycroft was right. Mary wouldn't hesitate to kill. But the longer he waited,the more likely Joh was being hurt. 

{ Fine. But I'm not going to stand outside and wait. You better be here when I get out. }

Sherlock hung up the mobile and shoved it into his back pocket, pulling out the gun and sticking it in the waistband of his pants. The cab slowed to a stop right outside John's surgery and Sherlock saw him. Mycroft and Greg standing by the road, waiting. 

Sherlock paid and climbed out of the cab, not hesitating to speak to his brother or his boss. He was here to save John Watson. Sherlock quickly inspected the front door. 

"We're on a mission and you bring your lover?"

"We're on a mission to save your lover."

The words stung and both brothers regretted them as soon as they came out. Sherlock gave Mycroft a look and Mycroft motioned to the door. Sherlock nodded and checked the doorknob, before kicking down the door and leading the couple inside.


	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock kicked down the door and barely noticed the shocks of pain vibrating through his leg. He hadn't eaten in over three days and his body was feeling it. Mycroft could tell the lack was getting to him, so he ran into the building with his gun up, his old days returning to him. Mycroft had been an agent before he returned to the government. He'd never told Greg about his old days as an agent.

Sherlock looked around the empty waiting room. The lucky thing about John's surgery is that he didn't have the money to make a big one. He'd had to rent a small building instead of the big one he wanted. Smaller building meant less rooms where she could attack them. 

\---

John heard the door fall to the ground, well, that's what he thought it was. Of course, with all the drugs pumping through his system he couldn't tell what was real. 

He pulled on the dark green hospital trousers Mary had left him, and the white shirt that was in pieces. John looked around he surgery room. He'd checked before, but he always has to check. She'd taken the surgery tools after using them on John. 

He moved behind the door when he heard the shuffle of her footsteps and the punching of the keypad. The door slowly opened and John jumped on the back of the taller figure with black hair before he realized who it was. 

Sherlock tumbled to the ground, only barely managing to roll over to face John between punches landed to his spinal cord. Sherlock gasped softly when he saw the long scars stretching out from under the white shirt. 

John stared at the man beneath him, barely recognising the pale man before he stopped hitting him. His eyes welled up with relief. If Sherlock was here, then he'd be okay. Sherlock always saved him. He heard the throat clear of two other men but was too focused on Sherlock to care. 

John watched Sherlock's face as his lips slowly curled up in one corner and smirk ran across his face. His only expression available in times like this. 

"So, John, how would you describe this rescue?"

John's breathless giggle slid out of him before he could stop and he laid his head on Sherlock's chest. 

"Late."

Sherlock giggled and wrapped his arms around John. 

"Happy Valentine's Day, John."


End file.
